The Miniature Moon
by Annie Bespoke
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a NASA scientist who has created a laser that will change the way moon samples are taken, only problem is he made a mistake and doesn't know it. So when John Watson claims that he has it wrong what happens?


**This is a request from foxeeflame. You asked for a hurt/comfort fiction with a plot/story line concerning Sherlock and John in an alternate "verse" such as Sherlock being an NASA Test Pilot and John the Doctor... I couldn't think of a way for Sherlock to be a NASA test Pilot without him being ooc, so I made him a scientist. Hope it's still ok. P.S. John's cane is the one in the pilot episode.**

Sherlock lay on the ratty, grey sofa that he had in his office. He had a miniature moon in his hands, and was currently throwing it at the ceiling. There was a knock at the door. Sherlock ignored it.

"Mr Holmes? Are you there?" A timid voice asked. Sherlock groaned and sat up, throwing the moon in a random direction into the spacious office.  
"It's open." He waited for a small, uninteresting man to enter. The man was balding and wearing a cheap suit. Deductions ran through Sherlock's mind, but he paid them no heed. Sherlock glared at the man, who cleared his throat.

"There's a man outside, he said that there was something wrong with your calculations." The man shuffled around a little, he'd obviously heard the rumours about Sherlock Holmes. "He also said that there will be devastating consequences if you don't meet with him." The man continued to shuffle until Sherlock waved him away, lying down again. The man stood in the doorframe for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sherlock lifted his head high enough to glare at him; he left rather quickly after that, forgetting to close the door behind him. Sherlock spent the next few minutes staring at the ceiling before muttering to himself.

"Bored."

"Well then, why don't you do something about it?" Sherlock shot up, having not realised that there was anyone there. A man with short blond hair stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a cane hung over his right arm. He wore a pair of faded jeans, a tan jumper and a pair of dark brown boots. Sherlock glared at the man.

"And who would you be?" Sherlock looked at the man, knowing that there was something off about him.  
"John Watson. At your service." John gave a small bow after introducing himself. Sherlock stared at him. "May I assume that you are Sherlock Holmes?" Obviously this man was as dumb as everyone else.

"Considering that Sherlock Holmes is written on the door, I think it would have been obvious."

"Ah, but you could simply be posing as Sherlock Holmes. How am I to know any different?"

"You're in a top security building; there would be security measures in place for that." John considered this. Sherlock had stood up and had started walking over to his desk. The desk was sparse, the computer, notebook and pens looking lonely. John looked around the room. It looked like two different world had collided, and not happily either. On one half of the room was the sofa and piles of books, scattered mugs and notes scattered across the floor. Then came the other half of the room, it was almost as if someone had drawn a line. The desk sat in the centre, a bookshelf on either side on the back wall. The bookshelves had five books, between them. It looked like the books had started over there and then migrated onto the floor beside the sofa.

"I assume that you're the man falsely stating that my calculations are incorrect." John smiled, nodding. "Do you have proof that my calculations are incorrect?" Sherlock looked smug, knowing that John was wrong. "Show me." John's grin widened. He reached to his jean back pocket, pulling something out. Sherlock frowned. Out of his small pocket, John brought an A4 sized notebook and a pen. The pen had some peculiar symbols on it, but Sherlock was too busy trying to figure out where John had hidden them in the first place. John motioned for Sherlock to look at the notebook. He hesitated.

"It won't bite, Sherlock. It's only a notebook." John seemed to be laughing silently at Sherlock's reaction. Sherlock snatched the blue notebook, turning around and placed it on the desk. He flipped it open to find almost an exact replica of his calculations. Sherlock frowned, none of this was public knowledge, yet John had drawn up his own version of it.

"How did you get these? These figures are not yet public." Sherlock continued to flick through the pages, barely understanding how it had happened.

"Exactly, not yet!" John's eyes shined as if there was some sort of inside joke. Sherlock had reached the end of the calculations, noticing the difference.

"How did you get this figure?" Sherlock flicked back to the front of the book, pointing at a figure half-way down the page. "This is greatly different from the figure I used. It has the same numbers, but I have a decimal place." John took the notebook from Sherlock gently, sensing that the man was about to have a mental breakdown. "If your figure is correct then this could make a large and dangerous difference." Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders, startling him. "Explain!" John sighed and patted Sherlock's hands.

"Well, the difference between this figure here and the one you used is simple. May I see your blackboard?" Sherlock started.

"How did you know that I used a blackboard?" John motioned to Sherlock's sleeve, where there was almost an imperceptible smudge of chalk. "Oh, okay." Sherlock, almost in a daze, took John to the lab where his blackboard was kept. Sherlock made a motion towards the blackboard, which spanned the length of the long room. Almost every inch of it was covered in chalk. John walked up to the beginning of the blackboard, nodding to himself. He took a finger, reached up, and erased the decimal place in between the numbers. He turned around and explained.

"There was a smudge." He motioned to where he rubbed out the dot. Sherlock fell to the floor in despair.

"Months of work, pointless. Then you blunder in here and fix it all." Sherlock's eyes were wide. "Who are you?"

"That, my friend, is a story for later. Just now, we need to input the new figures into the machine before they start it up." John pulled up Sherlock, almost dragging him to the room where the new laser machine. The thought that he really shouldn't know where the room was passed through his mind, he quickly dismissed it, it felt right that John knew his way around. John gently lowered Sherlock to the floor; Sherlock now had a blank look on his face. John was vaguely concerned about the human. Sherlock, on the other hand, was feeling as if he were high again, the world wasn't making sense anymore. He was beginning to panic. John turned around, accessing the panel that would allow him to change the figures. He typed furiously for a couple of minutes, a crease in between his eyebrows. He stopped typing, his eyes scanned the screen, searching. After making sure that all of the figures were correct, he let out a relieved sigh.

"John." Sherlock startled John, causing him to turn around, falling over. Sherlock reached out to catch him. His arms went around his waist, as Sherlock was still kneeling on the floor, and John's chest hit the side of Sherlock's face. For a moment the two just stayed like that, startled. John tried to pull away, but Sherlock's arms kept him trapped. John froze, realising what Sherlock must be hearing. Sherlock slowly pulled away, gazing up at John.

"You have two heartbeats." John cleared his throat.

"Yes, I happen to have two heartbeats."

"You have two hearts." Sherlock's eyes looked into John's calmly; no sign of panic, so John continued to stay still.

"Yes, yes I do."

"What are you?"

"That is a very good question... If you let me go, I can explain." Sherlock seemed to realise that he was still holding John.  
"Oh. Of course." Sherlock let John go, pushing himself up onto his feet. John nodded, and made a gesture to follow, so Sherlock did.

They stood in front of a police telephone box. John was smiling lovingly up at it.

"This is where I will answer your questions." He walked up to it, removing a key from his pocket. It slipped seamlessly into the lock.

"Why is there a police telephone box in a NASA building?" Sherlock asked. John looked back at him.

"I needed somewhere to park it." He shrugged, pushing open the door. He stepped inside, Sherlock almost regretted following him here, he was obviously delusional. Sherlock took a deep breath, taking a step inside the blue box, only for it to escape his body in a large whoosh.

"Uhmmm." Sherlock looked around the cavernous room he stood in. He ran out, running a circle around the small blue box, before running back in.

"How?" He breathed. John simply stood in the centre of the room, leaning on his cane.

"Welcome to the TARDIS."

"The TARDIS?" John had a kind look in his eyes.

"Yes. Time and relative dimensions in space. TARDIS. She's my spaceship. She's how I knew to come help you." John made a motion with his right hand, the hand not currently residing on the cane handle.

"Then what are you?"

"I am a Time Lord, and old race." Sherlock looked at John for almost a minute.

"You're not named John Watson, are you?"

"Nope."

"Then what's your name?"

"The Doctor."


End file.
